


Back on the Block - Part One

by JoansGlove



Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [4]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: She's been played. Not by the best but still, she's been played. But this time things are different.
Relationships: Joan Ferguson/Brenda Murphy
Series: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976404
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Fuck was Ferguson ever pissed off?! She’d prowled that solitary cell almost constantly since they’d put her in there. Muttering to herself, hands weaving and jabbing as her face contorted like a demon’s. She was like a caged beast, full of wrath, every answer to a CO a snarl, a bark or a hiss. And when she wasn’t pacing she sat stock still, staring into space as if she’d been hypnotized – there was no in-between and it was truly fascinating to watch. She was striding up and down the small space right now, moulding a plan in her restless hands, but she froze mid-pace and turned as the door opened, her mask of fury at being interrupted falling away as she recognised Brenda.

It was as if Ferguson suddenly stepped into another persona – seeming almost to give herself a physical shake – and the hectic light in her eyes dimmed, her body relaxing as if someone had cut a wire somewhere. But she looked out of it, and she looked rough too, there was no getting away from the shadows playing in the hollows of her gaunt cheeks, or her eyes, red-rimmed in their dark sockets as she looked at her in enquiry. “Your solicitor is coming tomorrow morning,” Brenda informed her, standing back from the ripe odour that oozed out into the corridor.

Joan cocked her head, eyes flickering to the right as if she was listening to someone behind her and then she nodded. “In that case I’d like a shower and some clean clothes.”

Brenda shot a look over to Hagen who scoffed and shook her head at Ferguson's imperious demand. “You’re in the slot, Ferguson, you don’t get showers in here. Remember?”

“It’s been days. I stink.” Nightwear had seemed the most appropriate clothing by the time the police had finally finished with her and taken her bloody gate clothes away as evidence, and she plucked at her soiled pyjama top, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“You’re right, you do reek,” Brenda agreed, mimicking her expression. “How about I get you a washcloth? You can do your pits and bits in the sink.” She turned her head and watched as Hagen lumbered back to the desk, satisfied Brenda had it under control. Ferguson rolled her eyes, tutting at her gutter vulgarity and Brenda grinned insolently.

“I still have Smith’s blood in my hair.” Joan indicated the right side of her head with a jerk of her fingers and a grimace. “It’s unhygienic, I should be entitled to wash it out and I can’t do that in a sink the size of a thimble. Tell Vera I want a shower.” A malicious half-smile dimpled her cheek and she whispered slyly, “Tell her she can watch if she likes.”

*****

Murphy’s face was unreadable as she unlocked the cell and stepped inside. “Well?” asked Joan, glancing up at her from the bed, already resigned to a flat refusal. “Did she even try to make up an excuse?”

“You were lucky, Vera’s gone home so I asked Jake.”

"And?”

“And he said yeah, you can have your shower.”

“Good, so let’s go.” She made to stand.

“Not so fast, Ferguson. Gotta wait until lock-up.” Joan's eyebrow rose in a weary ‘what now?’ “That way you can’t get at the women and they can’t get at you,” she explained airily and smirked as Joan gave a disgruntled ‘tcha!’

“And who will be the supervising officer?”

“I will. Unless you want O’Shea instead?”

The tip of Joan's tongue peeked out and caressed the centre of her top lip, and her cool gaze coated Brenda like treacle as she slowly looked her up and down. “Very well. I’ll be waiting for you.”

*****

Chin up, shoulders back, she strutted through the shadowy corridors, Murphy keeping perfect pace. Her rolling stride was oiled by the re-emergence of her sexual desire, it pulsed through her now like a low grade electric charge, arcing across the firebreaks she’d created and grounding itself deep in her core. Stopping outside the shower room she glanced up at the CCTV camera, making sure it was covering the door. Murphy settled against the wall and checked her watch, preparing herself for a stint of boredom. “How long have I got?” Joan asked.

“Forty-five minutes max, then I’m locking you in and going home.”

“And I won’t be disturbed?”

Brenda looked her up and down. “No way. No-one wants a bar of you, Ferguson.”

“Well, I’d still feel safer if you came in with me.” Murphy shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her either way, and a silver thread of disquiet receded in Joan's mind.

“If that’s what you want. Least I can sit down I suppose.”

“You always were one for the easy option, weren’t you?” she observed archly.

Brenda gave her a hard look and, after a moment’s consideration, pursed her lips. “No, not always. You know that,” she said quietly. That caused the other woman to inhale sharply; a pained smile of grateful acknowledgement flickered on Ferguson's mouth and Brenda’s eyes softened, accepting her apology with a lift of her chin. “But why make life harder for yourself if you don’t have to, yeah? Life’s too bloody short.”

The shower room door banged behind them, echoing off the spartan fixtures. Warm and damp, it still bore traces of last minute visitors, and Ferguson stalked the row of cubicles before choosing the centre stall, hanging her robe on the hook then crossing to the sink to brush her teeth, and Brenda spent a very enjoyable few minutes watching that magnificent arse jiggle as she scrubbed away with her toothbrush. Solitary had afforded them little chance to speak and she could only guess at how Ferguson was feeling – to be a whisker from freedom and then to have it snatched away because somebody let Smith out to kill her. It was bloody inhuman. No wonder she paced, no wonder she plotted. Whoever helped Smith better watch their back because Ferguson would be coming for them.

This was the only shower room to have an unsecured bench in it, Joan noticed (something to do with access to flow valves in the wall or some such if she remembered correctly), and she crossed to it, ordering her towel and compression gloves neatly on the varnished slats. Her escort stood by the door and, with a sly glance, Joan turned her back to her and undressed.

“I hope you’re watching, Miss Murphy,” she purred, and eased her pyjama trousers down, bending forward as they slipped over her bottom and pushing them all the way to her ankles. She peered between her legs at Murphy who looked suddenly stricken.

“You’ve ah, you’ve changed your tune, haven’t you? Thought I was meant to be ignoring you.” Straightening up, Joan stood before her, all long curves and enticing eyes, and Brenda grew hot as her body responded: a flush of longing spreading up her neck, a dark shiver playing between her legs.

A tumult of emotion flared behind Joan’s expression of gratitude. “You were. And because of that I achieved my freedom. But I have no such worries with this charge, I know that I shall be vindicated.” For a moment she seemed to go somewhere else as she predicted her victory, and then a different light entered her eyes and they raked Murphy’s solid curves. “And I will not be denied what I need any longer.” She bent and lifted the end of the bench. “A little help?” Together they moved it closer to the shower stalls. “Take off your sweater and sit down,” she ordered, stepping backwards into her chosen cubicle and pointing to a spot that afforded the best view.


	2. Chapter 2

She felt parts of herself break away as she washed off the shell of filth and degradation, her protective scales sloughing off as each cleansing pass of her hands brought her desire for Murphy into sharper and sharper focus. She’d done a good and very necessary job of convincing herself that there was nothing between the two of them, but that was over now. Her current situation may be far from ideal but the need to kill those parts of herself was gone – especially the part of herself that made her feel most real. She stole a glimpse of Murphy, wondering how she’d got so lucky. With this woman she could move again, feel again; at long last she could breathe again.

Finally clean, she gave herself over to the caress of the water, letting it pull back her head, exposing her throat, and she arched her chest, arms falling limp as the spray fell first on her face and then her breasts, its pattering raising teasing tingles across her skin, its warm fingers racing down her stomach to tickle seductively between her legs.

Brenda licked her lips, pulse quickening at what might come. In desperate need of a proper wash, Ferguson had kept her back to her for most of the last five minutes and there had been none of the slow seduction present during their first late-night shower – although that hadn’t stopped Brenda appreciating what she saw – but now that she was done Ferguson didn’t turn off the water. Instead, she turned and stepped to the edge of the spray, and water bounced off her backside as she slowly soaped her heavy breasts and stared at Brenda, a seductive challenge gleaming in her shadowy black eyes as iridescent bubbles gathered between her fingers and her crimson lips parted in pleasure. Brenda let out a small whimper. The flutters in her cunt had been ticking over quite nicely but now they went into overdrive and she squirmed against the hard bench as she watched those long-fingered hands slide over what she wanted to be holding right now.

Murphy had rolled her sleeves up and, with a hot little quiver, Joan noticed how the muscles in her forearms flexed as she gripped the edge of the bench. “Enjoying yourself, are you?” she asked innocently. Murphy looked hungry.

She smiled mockingly and offered a noncommittal shrug as Ferguson pinched her nipples and gasped. “Might be,” she drawled provocatively and tilted her head to one side as she waited for Ferguson's response.

“Well, why don’t you look inside your shirt and find out?”

“Could do that, I suppose.” She leaned back and idly inspected the dingy ceiling as if there might be something more interesting up there.

“I think you should. Just to make sure, I mean.”

Brenda laughed at Joan's transparent attempts at persuasion – not that she ever needed much persuading when it came to hot women. “Yeah?” she asked, undoing several buttons. Joan's wolfish grin made her shiver.

“Oh yes, I do. Most definitely.”

Eyes glued to Ferguson's, she slipped a hand inside her shirt and touched an aching nipple. She circled it and blinked hard at the shining bolt of sensation.

“So, what’s the verdict?” asked Joan, sliding back under the spray.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Looks like I am.” Ferguson moved closer again, all her focus on Brenda’s hidden hand.

“Are you going to let me see how much?” Her lips twitched as more buttons slipped from their holes and Murphy revealed her fleshy torso. They slackened as she released the catch between her breasts and peeled away her bra to expose pale coffee coloured nipples, large and hard, jutting from the tips of her low slung breasts. She remembered precisely how they felt in her mouth and nearly gave in to the urge to rush over and make it happen again. “Don’t be shy, now,” she breathed, eyes shining. “I know you want to touch them for me.”

Brenda looked at the floor and laughed. Her head rolled as she met Ferguson's eyes once more and she twitched an eyebrow, a lazy sneer twisting her juicy mouth as she stared scornfully. “ _Me_ touch them? You mean _you_ , don’t you?” Without ceremony she pulled her arms from her sleeves and gripped the rear of the bench, leaning back as she displayed herself to Ferguson's glittering gaze.

Joan took another a step forwards. “Does it matter? Do it,” she ordered with a jerk of her chin.

“Okay, seeing as you want it so bad.” Brenda started with a hand on her knee, splayed fingers sliding delightfully up the inside of her thigh, palm skating over her skirt as it homed in on the throbbing of her clit. The sweet ache as she pressed down had her hips rolling and she eventually sat forward, pushing against the wooden slats as her hands took the weight of her breasts, and she lifted them, squeezing as her body sang in pleasure. Brenda waited until Ferguson's eyes found hers once more and she spread her knees as wide as her skirt would allow, matching the gleaming woman’s dark smile of intent as she plucked at her nipples, and challenged: “Now what?”

She almost drowned in Murphy’s sultry look. Her need surged through her as she stared into those knowing hazel eyes and the sweetest shiver weakened her legs as a fingertip glanced over her clit. She stroked herself again, slipping another finger into her hot cleft as Murphy’s eyes coated her in a thousand tiny kisses. “Well, I’d ah—”she gasped “—I’d invite you in but you're not exactly dressed for the occasion, are you?”

If she wasn’t at work she’d have walked into that shower clothes and all, she wanted to touch Ferguson so bad. Brenda’s tongue peeked out and tapped her two front teeth as she drew out their game. “That’s a very tempting offer but you must be joking if you think I’m getting this wet.” She pointed to her hair. “So what’re ya gonna do now, eh?”

“Just you watch…” Four rolling steps brought her between open knees, and she dragged Murphy to her feet, fingers wrapping the back of her neck, thumb pressing beneath the angle of her jaw, and kissed her voraciously. She tasted of lipstick and tobacco smoke and coffee, and her tongue slipped fearlessly against Joan’s, claiming it as her own.


	3. Chapter 3

Brenda’s breath shivered into Ferguson's mouth as a large hand roamed her bare skin. The joyous relief of having Joan returned unbalanced her and she staggered as she was pulled hard into her naked body. The solid ache twisting low in her guts turned her surging blood to liquid velvet and, for a moment, she was nothing but a map of glowing sensation in the darkness. She hung there as they bled together, suspended in time, and then her hands found Joan's waist and the feeling thinned as animal need took over. “You’re getting me wet,” she teased and swept sparkling droplets from the curve of Joan’s hips as her hands slid down to cup the impressive swell of her arse. 

“Shut up,” rasped Joan, taking a hand fitting it to the sodden thatch between her legs. Bridge of her nose pushing against Brenda’s forehead, she suffered the sweet torment of blunt fingers tracing her swollen sex, and droplets of water swung from the obsidian blades of her hair, raining goosebumps on Brenda’s skin as, with a steadying arm around her waist, she quickly rubbed her into a panting frenzy. There were no words – they didn’t need them – and she burned with a raw, wild heat as her excitement peaked. Her legs began to tremble and she hung onto her lover for dear life.

Joan's desperate, breathless mewling became hoarse cries and Brenda breathed in the smell of clean wet hair and sudden sweat as she came fast and hard, convulsing, claw-like fingers digging into Brenda’s shoulders as she clung on, lips drawing back in a grimace of ecstasy as she struggled to stay upright. 

Helpless shudders continued to wrack her body as fingers eased their way inside, stretching her clenching cunt, making her mumble: “Oh my god, Brenda. Oh my god, yes…” She moved against Brenda’s slow thrusts and let herself be guided down onto the bench, Brenda leaning over her and tearing a kiss from her open mouth as she fitted herself between her damp thighs. The current that flowed through her burned away the stress and strain of her incarceration leaving only the woman behind. Refusing to let her break their kiss, Joan gripped the back of Murphy’s neck and she found a heavy breast, kneading it like a kitten as she rocked against her busy fingers with base urgency. A fist in her hair separated their faces and she looked down between their heaving bellies at the sturdy hand splitting her sticky fur, and then to the shadow of Brenda’s crotch, still hidden by her rumpled skirt. She wanted to see all of this woman, she wanted to be able to smell her arousal mingling freely with hers. “Fuck me harder!” she begged.

Ferguson's cunt sucked greedily at her fingers, all four were inside her now – hot and slippery from her juices – thumb bent against her large clit, wrist creaking as Brenda gave her what she wanted. Knees drawn up, Ferguson thrust back, opening herself up wider, maximising her pleasure, and her red-rimmed eyes burned like coals and bored into hers as she moaned with every undulation of her long body. Brenda tried to ignore the insistent wetness of her own cunt, the way her clit felt like it was going to bust, but it was a trial, especially as Ferguson wouldn’t leave her tits alone. She was desperate to come but she didn’t want it to be from humping Ferguson's leg, or the bench; she wanted to come because Ferguson was fucking her brains out – hard, and on purpose.

“Gotta let go of me, love,” she panted, “You’re gonna break my neck.” Mercifully, Joan slowly reclined and, as her shoulders met wood, she stared deep into Brenda’s eyes and lifted her hips, and Brenda lowered her face to Joan's fragrant cunt bathing her hard clit in hot, moist breath, making her gasp and writhe at the new sensation. She let out a mighty groan as Brenda sucked it into her mouth, jerking with the skilful attention of her tongue, and her hands flew to her breasts. Before she could draw breath again, Brenda had tucked her thumb into her palm and was twisting her knuckles into the entrance of her vagina, and Joan choked on a strangled shout of joy, then another, and another until the bliss was too much to bear. “I’m going to come,” she almost wept, heaving belly creasing as she instinctively reached for Brenda, winding her into the cage of her arms, her forehead grinding into a soft shoulder as she surrendered herself.

Wet hair caught between Brenda’s fingers as she clasped Joan's head to her chest, and she twisted her hand, moulding her palm around the sticky, swollen peak of her clit, slowing her thrusts as Joan began to shudder. “Don’t let me go, don’t let me go, don’t let me go, don’t let me go,” she chanted as her whole body tensed, almost pushing Brenda away whilst grabbing handfuls of flesh to drag her ever closer.

“Come on, darl,” panted Brenda. “Let it go.” That was all she needed, and Joan surrendered, clutching blindly as her shouts echoed around the room.

It seemed ridiculous that a woman like Joan Ferguson could be curled so softly against her like this – in all her vulnerable, naked, sweaty glory – but she was. Brenda kissed her forehead protectively, and Joan looked up at her and tenderly caressed her cheek, awe illuminating her face as she marvelled at this creature.

“What?” asked Brenda.

“After what’s happened I didn’t know if you’d think I was still worth the trouble.”

A smile lit Brenda’s face, bringing out its sweetness, and she took Joan's damaged hand, coating the palm with her own and lifted it, kissing the mottled knuckles as she held her uncertain stare. “Are you kidding?” she reassured. “Trouble’s my middle name, isn’t it.”

“Ha! Yes, I’d almost forgotten what a—” she paused for a second and her cheek dimpled mischievously as she wove their fingers together, “ _Rebel_ you are.”

Brenda stiffened. “Hey, I’m not just doing this for shits and giggles you know!” she replied defensively, and Joan pulled away, anxious to placate.

“Did I say you were?” She shook her head for emphasis, brown eyes wide and frank. “But you have to admit that courting a woman like me isn’t to many people’s taste.” A sudden laugh, curt and self-depreciating, escaped her lips. “It’s not like I’m fighting them off with a stick, is it?”

“Well,” Brenda pouted, her hackles subsiding, “That’s because they don’t have the brains to know what they’re missing.”

Joan thanked her with a slow kiss. “I like a clever woman,” she murmured and winked, easing herself onto her knees and leaning into Brenda as she ran smooth fingers down her neck and brought them to rest on rapidly stiffening nipples. There was no way that Brenda’s pique could survive such distraction and her body rippled as all thought disintegrated and she lost herself in Joan's eyes.

She was literally trembling with need, each scalding kiss Joan bestowed on her neck and shoulders just left her desperate for more. Each nip of Joan’s teeth made her gasp and push her head lower and lower until at last her wide mouth was on her breasts. And, as Joan marked her skin with gentle bites and suck marks, her inquisitive hands worked their way down to her strong thighs and Brenda sucked in a fractured breath as Ferguson finally found her cunt and squeezed. It escaped in a loud, guttural _‘fuuuckk!’_ as Ferguson tickled her clit through her damp undies and Brenda sagged under the divine assault, feeling desperately behind her for support but finding nothing but the end of the bench and fresh air, and she snatched at Joan's thigh as she began to fall.

Joan rescued her, scooping her up with a strong arm and pulling her effortlessly into a silken kiss, then she spun her around, snugging her into her hot body as she held her fast. “You’re amazing, you know? So fucking sexy,” she groaned, hoisting up Brenda’s skirt and easing her tights and undies down to grant access to her questing hand. As soon as Joan's fingers touched her Brenda began to rub against them. “Ohhh…” she groaned as Joan opened her up and slid her slippery fingertips all over her twitching sex, “Ohh, ohhh, ohhhhh!”

Joan’s head swam. The feel of this woman was exquisite. Touching her was an act of worship. Raw sexual energy radiated from her just like the burning rays of the sun, and it seared Joan's skin as she sweated and pushed against her. “You’re so wet…” she breathed reverentially.

“Yeah, strange that,” she managed before the power of speech was ripped away and Joan's fingers curled into her empty cunt and she was fucked to within an inch of her life. Her legs found their way over Joan's and they strained as she fucked her back, toes flexing against the lino, numb fingers gripping Joan's hips as she rode Joan's gorgeously relentless fingers. They slammed into her cunt and, with each smack of Joan’s palm against her clit, Brenda felt herself losing it. She had the sensation of being lifted on an ocean wave but never sliding back down, each surge raising her higher and higher until she was as light as air, her body humming as she swirled inside with a deliciously sweet ache that came to settle – tight and heavy – behind her pubic bone, and she touched Joan's hand, guiding her rhythm as her excitement shifted gear. She began to crest, barely registering the hot kisses sliding down her neck as she clung onto Joan’s forearm clamped painfully tight around her ribs. And then she dropped, plummeting down into the explosive caress of orgasm. She sang an opera of stolen gasps as she stiffened and shook, eyes rolling back as she was filled with stabbing light and, somehow finding Joan's hand again, she stilled it, moving slick fingers to her clit and sliding against them as the light faded from her bones and she floated on the diminishing surges until at last she lay broken but sated in Joan's safe embrace.

Joan snuggled around Brenda’s softness and sighed contentedly. She could almost forget where they were, and why. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured and her lips found the damp skin beneath Brenda’s dainty ear. 

A crystal shiver spread through Brenda and she drew Joan's arms tighter. “Same here,” she replied and angled her face to bestow a gentle kiss on Joan's soft mouth.

“How long do we have left?” asked Joan as her fingers drifted down the plump swell of her belly.

She glanced at her watch and sat forward. “Ten minutes.”

Joan leaned forward and restrained her with a long arm. “More than enough time,” she said, unbuttoning Brenda’s skirt.

She chuckled ruefully and slid out of range. “Oh no, no more of that for you tonight. I’m not doing unpaid overtime for anybody.” A lopsided smile teased at her lips as her gaze flickered over Joan's nakedness. “Not even someone as hot as you. Anyway, you need to get back under that shower.” She laughed at Joan as she blinked at her with puppy dog eyes and stuck out her bottom lip. “In,” she ordered, inclining her head sharply towards the still-running water. Like a sulky teenager, Joan made a meal of swinging her leg over the bench and she stared at Brenda in mock reproach as she stood and dawdled the few short metres.

Brenda stood at the entrance to the cubicle and watched Joan's glorious arse. This was starting to become a habit, she thought happily, and not one she ever wanted to break. “Oh god, how I wish I could have fucked you with my fat cock,” she said wistfully and tucked in her shirt. The water stopped and Joan turned, her face full of curiosity and speculation. She clicked her fingers and Brenda threw her the towel, casually ogling her breasts as she rubbed herself down.

“Well, I’m sure that a woman of your talents will find a way of making that happen. By tomorrow night,” she added, glancing up and grinning.


	4. Chapter 4

Brenda held a finger to her lips as O’Shea threw her a questioning look from the desk. Ferguson was in with her solicitor. That in itself merited a bit of eavesdropping but, as Joan had remained mostly tight-lipped about what had gone down in the side yard, it was the only way she was going to find out the finer details. Her solicitor’s voice was low, her tone modulated – Joan's not so much.

Nina sat down and sighed in exasperation and dismay at Joan's current situation. “The Crown might be willing to drop the Murder charge if you agree to plead guilty to Manslaughter.” The woman looked away and focused instead on something in the corner of the small cell. Nina was used to seeing clients in an agitated state but this was something else. This one appeared to be teetering on the brink of sanity. She’d considered her intense during their previous encounters but now she could sense a violent energy fermenting beneath the brittle veneer of apparent calm, and wished the door had been left ajar just a little. 

“She came at me,” said Joan slowly and deliberately, as if having to repeat herself to an imbecile, “With a fucking screwdriver.”

“Joan, you stabbed her multiple times.” She almost added _‘be reasonable’_ but wisely decided against poking the bear. She tried to catch her client’s eye but Joan doggedly stared at a spot somewhere near the foot of the bed, as if she were watching a replay of the attack, or talking to a third person…

She knew what happened, she didn’t need to be told yet again by someone who wasn’t even there! The room seemed suddenly too small to contain them both. Joan felt as if she was going to explode and summoned all of her strength to push down the writhing inside. “Because she wanted me to!” she barked aggressively. Jesus Christ, why was it so hard to make people see!? She stared at the floor, chewing on her anger, trying to swallow it down before it took charge of her. It barely worked and she raised her face to the ceiling with a noisy intake of breath, holding it for a moment as she tried to claw back a professional air, and explained with effort: “Smith was in a no-prisoner area, and that means there was a conspiracy, involving a member of staff.”

Outside the cell, Brenda’s eyes widened. If Ferguson was telling the truth, did that make her some unfortunate angel of mercy or something? It was too farfetched not to be true though… no-one in their right mind would spin a story like that if it wasn’t.

Nina eyed Joan warily, the adrenaline at her outburst still trilling through her veins. “Basing your defence on a conspiracy is dangerous,” she argued.

“Only if I am wrong,” answered Joan quietly in a voice full of darkness. “Which, I am not.”

She leaned forward in an attempt to get Joan to look with her. “Who was it? Which member of staff aided Smith?” Emotion flowed across the client’s long face, finally coming to rest on loathing as her eyes slid sideways and she glared at her.

“The Governor.” The syllables fell from her tongue like tombstones. Unseen, Brenda lips formed a perfect ‘O’ of surprise and then thinned in hatred.

Perplexed, Nina frowned and sat back as she digested this allegation. “Joan, why would the Governor conspire to put you in harm’s way?”

“Amongst other things she believes that I have cheated justice and wishes to see me punished.” She eyed Nina and inhaled deeply as she cut off infected thoughts of Vera. “I assume the pathologist has identified that the fatal blow was self-inflicted?” she enquired, her tone now cool and composed.

“The report was inconclusive. There was too much damage.”

She absorbed this with a silent _‘Ah’_. “Then naturally we’ve requested a second post mortem.”

“It’s too late for that, Joan. Haven’t they told you? Smith’s body’s been cremated. They buried her ashes this morning.” She tensed as her client’s fists balled in her lap. It took a few taut moments before she recovered her composure.

“Indecently quick, don’t you think?” asked Joan bitterly and her eyes narrowed as Nina remained silent. “Almost as if they had something to hide, wouldn’t you say?”

*****

As O’Shea escorted her solicitor out, Brenda entered her cell on the pretext of collecting the chairs. Joan was sitting still as a statue again and she didn’t look a whole lot different to how she had when they’d first put her in here. She was obviously still seething at the news of Smith and seemed to hum with a tenseness that made the air around her tight and uncomfortable. She turned her head slowly, as if it caused her pain, and her shadowed eyes glittered as they flickered over Brenda’s face. “I assume you were listening to that.” Ignoring her vicious tone, Brenda gave _a why wouldn’t I?_ shrug. “You don’t look too bothered by what you heard.”

“Sounds like a clear cut case of kill or be murdered to me,” Brenda replied as if this sort of thing happened every day.

“No, it wasn’t!” Joan snapped before she could catch herself. “It wasn’t,” she repeated less harshly. “Undoubtedly Smith would have stabbed me if she’d been able, but when I disarmed her, when she saw that she wouldn’t win, she lunged at me. She impaled herself on her own weapon. _Repeatedly_. She _wanted_ to die. If Westfall was any good at her job she’d be able to confirm that Smith was a significant suicide risk – with or without me she’d have killed herself soon enough. I just… helped to hasten her exit.” She paused to gauge Brenda’s response, on the whole, judging it favourable as the woman pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully. “But I underestimated Smith,” she continued, “And she’s making me pay the price. I underestimated Vera too. I never thought her quite so desperate to see me pay. She’ll say it’s not true but I know her – she’ll have spent hours wishing me dead – it’s what a woman like her does when she’s out of options. Yet any second-year law student can see that I was set up. I should hope that Vera's starting to worry right about now, keep an eye on her for me won’t you?”

“How? She’s far more interested in hearing about your dirty deeds than in sharing hers.” She motioned for Joan to stand so she could take the chair. “But I’ll see what I can get out of her. She’ll be wanting an update on you now you’ve seen your solicitor.”

Joan seemed to relax a little and a slow sneer of contempt twisted her gaunt face. “May I suggest that we have a little fun with her then? Why don’t you tell her that I’m agitated. Tell her that Nina’s visit has made me anxious,” she suggested as she rose. “She’ll like that.”

“Do you really think they’ll drop the charges?” Brenda asked her as Joan crossed to the window and stared into the white sky beyond.

“They’ll have to when the facts are exposed.”

“And if some of those facts go missing? What then?” Dismay crept across Brenda’s face at the prospect. “You could be sentenced to ten years. Or more. _Interstate_.”

Joan's mouth tightened and she cocked her head towards the corner of the dim cell as if listening to someone. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” she said, quietly. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, blowing out some of this morning’s stress before slowly turning to Brenda. “I’ll see you tonight, yes?” she asked with a smile in her dark eyes.

“Nup, off at five. Swapped a half-shift with Tsaoussis for tomorrow morning.” She sniggered at Joan's scowl of dissatisfaction. “Oh, come off it, you don’t think Vera's gonna let you out of the Slot tonight do you? And I’m not into public performances.” She indicated the CCTV camera with a roll of her eyes, and Joan pulled a face because she was right. “Anyway, it means you get me all day tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

“Doesn’t do me much good when the whole world will be watching my every move,” she grumbled.

“They won’t be after lock-up.” Brenda turned to leave. “I’m sure you’ll manage to survive until then,” she said with a wink and her lips twitched in farewell as Joan tossed her head in grudging admiration of this woman’s effortless off-handedness.


End file.
